[Jay-Z]I thought this was America people!Uhh, yeah, guilty until proven innocent huh?Thatīs how we workin huh? OkayBefore me there was many; after me there will be noneI am the oneUh-huh, okay, I see how we playin

Yeah, I get it down - anxiously the public canīt waitNiggaz had to have it way before itīs release dateJigga get irate, press get it fucked upTook me one point eight but I had to get it straightGet the CD, twelve inch vinyl, get the tapeJigga give out food for thought dog, get a plateI get it down, get it krunk when I get in the state of mindthat whatīs mine is mine, nobody get to takeI donīt bend, break, fold, scratch, go downMy mental rolodex see these words? I just donīt knowI know stress, drama, niggaz upsettin my mamaArrested, put in the lineup, tryin to put dents in my armorBut Iīm a survivor, plus Iīm liver than mostOut on bail, fifty thouī, still ridin with toastI ainīt tryin to collide with folk,but I donīt want folk takin Jigga for jokeI guess you niggaz just woke - good morning!

Iīm not the snitch I donīt go to the cops to get rich.. I go to the block and pitchI go with the glock and click, I go with the pop Iīm sickI go with you hard; I ainīt gonī stop for shitLook in my eyes dog, right in my pupilsIf Iīm your rival, why would I have to do you?Press try to throw dirt on my name, disturbin my gameSeemed happy when they heard he was arraigned, glad heīs indichtedGot big money, big lawyers to fight itJust like Cochran, cocksuckers you never see me boxed inYīall all knnow it, Jiggaīs a fighterPlus Iīm clausterphobic, back on the streets before you know itAnd my word niggaz, I heard you niggazIīm address each and every one of you cocksuckersFuck the white press, the block love us, hip-hop foreverB.I.G. is here, the soul of Tupac hovers - above us

Got lame bitches tryin to fuck with my caseSame lame bitch I bust in her faceHoney just mad I got her fuckin replacedPlus a birthday pass without me even touchin my safeBut I ainīt gonī lie, the head was sickBut what we need to do, is put that mouth on a betta bitchYou heart the rhetorhic, Jigga hit me over the headwith a champagne bottle at the bar, can he buy me a car?Naw, how do yīall equate your painWould it all go away if I bought you a Range?I got one or two of those, nothin gonī changeFor nothin else, you gotta live with yourselfTry and lie on Hovī cause I ride on the roadin what, most would describe as a RollsNO, thatīs that Continental TThe only car that fit intercontinental me, not guilty